


Tired of Waitin'

by ArcticLucie



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Anal Play, Anal Sex, First Time Blow Jobs, Fluff and Smut, I Don't Even Know, M/M, Male Slash, Manipulation, Masturbation, Mildly Dubious Consent, Plot Twists, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Sex Pollen, Shameless Smut, Soulmates, Weird Plot Shit, bottom!daryl, kind of, sort of, top!rick
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-14
Updated: 2015-02-14
Packaged: 2018-03-12 06:52:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,611
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3347645
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArcticLucie/pseuds/ArcticLucie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is what happens when Rick and Daryl get exposed to sex pollen (sort of).</p><p>Or</p><p>This is what happens when Rick, Daryl, and author get sexually frustrated by slow burn WIP's.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tired of Waitin'

**Author's Note:**

> I've been wanting to do a sex pollen story for awhile now, but something weird happened along the way with this...I really have no idea. Just enjoy the smutty goodness!!

Daryl had been feeling off for the past couple of weeks. He wasn't sure what was wrong only that he was easily aroused by the slightest of things, and that was an odd thing for him. He wasn't asexual like most assumed, he just hadn't found anyone he'd want to trouble himself with. More so now that the world had gone to shit than before. He didn't need the trouble; he had people to feed, to protect, to make proud.

Luckily for him, the tumultuous feelings were most prevalent outside the prison gates when he was setting and checking the traps or hunting. He would usually be scoping out the surrounding area for walkers and other threats—traipsing through the woods like it was his very own kingdom because it really was—or following a trail when it'd happen. 

He'd get hit with an overwhelming urge to attend to a raging hard-on in his pants that seemed to pop up out of no where. It was almost as scary as a damn walker with its intensity and incessancy, begging him for release, damn near bending him in half with agony if he refused. He'd assess the area around him and find a nice quiet place to get off.

Usually, that was back up against a tree for stability and defensive purposes. He'd unbutton his pants and lower his fly just enough to free his persistent member from the cage it resided in, never letting his pants slip or slide down in case a quick retreat was required for both of them.

Always aware, hyperaware of all things around him. That was a byproduct of the world they now resided in and of the world he lived in before when a belt or a bottle would come smashing down against your blindspot if your other senses failed to pick up on the telltale signs of a drunken lunatic approaching. Don't even get him started on the undead walking.

When he was sure that the world around him was still and relatively danger free, only then would he take his thick length in his rough, battle-worn hand. It wouldn't take long; slow strokes down, meaty fingers curled around the underside, veins thrumming an indiscernible beat against them as they climbed their way back up to the cap, thumb swiping over the apex to smear precum over the head, the Georgia breeze cooling the searing and sensitive skin as it drifted over rarely exposed flesh.

His breathing would pick up, lungs aching to be filled as he attempted to breath deep only to fail miserably. Flashes of body parts would appear in his vision, but they were too fleeting to identify: a jagged hip bone, the graceful curve of a craned neck, plump lips, and expert hands skimming over raised bumps on his grimy skin. 

He knew who they belonged to, he just couldn't admit it.

He'd come quiet, lower lip close to bleeding from teeth clamping down to stifle moans and grunts of delight as his body let go of every droplet of his milky white essence he was physically able to spill, ejaculate painting the forest floor like a goddamn Jackson Pollock.

His body would convulse and then relax as the fog over his mind would lift so that he could clean up and move out. But if he was gone long enough, walking in solitude under the canvas of green, round two would hit him with the same fury as the first. Sometimes a third would be needed and that just wasn't fucking natural!

It didn't happen every time he went out, but it was happening often enough for him to notice and maybe even worry. He'd refuse to let people join him even more than usual. After taking out the Governor, securing the prison, and losing his brother, no one pushed too hard, most likely sensing that he needed space to grief or whatever else you did now when the stakes were so high you didn't have time to.

He wondered if it was some sort of biological drive—like the infamous 'clock' the hens were always clucking about—that made him subconsciously need to spread his genes before he was too damn old to get it up. He gave serious thought to taking one of the newer members up on their offer to 'date' him, fuck him really. That's what they wanted even though he couldn't figure out why. 

But the idea of being with any of the women that had recently joined the group didn't really do anything for him. It took him a very long time to trust his original group of survivors, new people—no matter how genuine or nice they appeared—still made him wary.

His family, his people, weren't going to work. Carol was too much like a sister to even think of her in any other way. Beth was cute but too soft and innocent for someone as worn as him, and again, sister. Michonne. Well, she was Michonne and he couldn't get any further than that.

Course, he could go the other way. He wasn't a bigoted asshole like Merle or his father were, but he wasn't gay either. He didn't like all the damn boxes their crumbled society used to stuff people into, but he could accept the fact that he had been attracted to members of the same sex on occasion.

The only man—the only person period—he'd met since the dead started rising that he'd possibly consider building anything with was Rick, but that was never going to happen so he couldn't even entertain the idea. That could lead to all sorts of confusing feelings and turmoil that the group just couldn't afford. They needed him focused not lovestruck and blinded by unrequited longing.

That didn't stop his body from reacting against his will when the man licked the juices from his rabbit stew off his fingers. Thank god he had the big table for cover at dinner because the first time it happened, he nearly passed out from embarrassment. The new blonde would do the same thing as she stared him down like it was his cock she was sucking, and his body may have reacted to that, too, but it was more of a lurch in his stomach than a tightness in his balls. 

The effect Rick had on him was decidedly worse after he'd come back from the forest, like the trees were some sort of aphrodisiac. Anytime Rick looked at him he'd feel a stirring in his loins, and he'd swear the man was looking at him just like the blonde would, like he would ravish him at a moment's notice. So, he concluded that whatever was happening, not only made him insatiably horny but also had him hallucinating.

He was surprised and grateful that the reaction didn't happen on supply runs. He could go out all day any day to any town with anyone and be fine until they got back. He really needed to figure the whole thing out because soon it would be blatantly obvious that his right bicep was bigger than the left. 

He decided to set up a grid when it became apparent that the effects were stronger every time he headed left out of the prison gate as opposed to right. After that, he'd leave little marks on trees to indicate when he was at parade rest, half mast, or full on hard as nails. Next, came the survey of plant life or possible causes to his problem.

That's where he found himself now, fighting off the urge to claw at the hardened bulge threatening to rip a hole right through his already tattered jeans. He shook it off and continued his survey of the plants and flowers, most of which he was familiar with already. 

His eyes narrowed in on a plain looking flower, white with a bright blue stripe on each petal, and goddammit if it wasn't the same shade of blue as Rick's eyes. That thought was thankfully, or not, interrupted when a couple of twigs snapped so close behind him that he knew he was a goner if it was a walker. How could he have been so careless? 

He turned his head to find Rick peering over his shoulder, stare transfixed on the flower Daryl had just plucked out of the ground. He could feel the leader's breath quickening over the curve of his neck, and he swallowed. His body shivered with need when the tickle of beard ghosted over his bare shoulder.

"I need you," Rick drawled, low and so incredibly sexy that it nearly split every atom in his body. 

"For what? A run? Go on back, I'll catch up," Daryl told him.

Rick's reply came in the form of him pressing his own hardened bulge into Daryl's ass, bodies touching from thighs to shoulders, calloused hands digging under the hem of Daryl's shirt to be splayed across his abdomen. Rick let out a moan and gently pulled the archer back into him, full lips resting against his ear.

" _I_ need you," he reiterated his point, punctuated with a forward roll of his hips.

"'S just the damn flower, Rick. Ya don't know what yer sayin'," Daryl reasoned. 

"I know I'm gonna die if I don't have ya soon," he whispered before twirling Daryl around like he was nothing.

That was not something Daryl ever expected to hear from Rick's mouth. He wanted him that bad? The guy must be out of his damn mind. Or confused as hell. Daryl knew he had to do something to snap Rick out of his trance or they were going to destroy the only friendship he ever truly needed. 

Rick's eyes were dark and he was leering salaciously, hungrily, desperately. But Daryl pushed that down because they needed to get out of the dispersal area of that damn sex flower. That had to be it, the funky mood he'd been in, the reaction Rick was having. Goddamn sex pollen, just a psychedelic drug.

He gripped Rick's wrist, hoping the bruises would be forgiven, and started pulling him back to the prison. That turned out to be a harder task than he imagined, and for once it wasn't just from the awkward gait thanks to his still very present erection. He must've built up a little immunity because his brain wasn't nearly as clouded as Rick's was. 

Rick was handsy and that was something else he never expected from the ex-lawman. He kept groping at his ass with nimble little fingers and pressing his body into his, and while Daryl wasn't a saint and may have been more than willing to fuck him senseless any other time, he could not take advantage of a man under the influence of a weird flower. And most certainly not Rick.

He didn't know how he was going to get him past the group and to his or Hershel's cell in his inebriated state without people either getting the wrong impression of them or Rick seeking out a new target since Daryl wouldn't play along. The latter was more of a concern at that point because he couldn't trust half the people at the prison to be as noble as he was regarding their leader. No doubt, most would jump at the chance to jump his bones. 

Ah who was he kidding, he was possessive as hell.

Thankfully, Michonne was at the gate. He tried to keep Rick behind him as they walked up, which wasn't very difficult considering that Rick seemed committed to having Daryl's ass near his cock at all times. He really needed to find someone else he could entrust Rick with because his own resolve was beginning to slip every time those delicious lips would attack his neck and those handsy hands trailed further and further down his stomach with each step.

"Michonne! I need Hershel," Daryl hollered, trying to keep Rick and his menacingly magnificent hands hidden.

"What's wrong?" she practically yelled in panic.

"Nothin' life threatenin', just got a problem with some....things. Could ya get 'im?"

Upon hearing Michonne, apparently Rick decided to stake his claim over him. He sunk his teeth into the flesh of Daryl's neck, sucking and biting, marking him good. Michonne's eyes went wide as he whimpered Rick's name, knees going wobbly for a second. A shit-eating grin, with her surprisingly still white teeth, spread like molasses over her face, slow and smug.

"It ain't what you think! He's high outta his mind. Would ya please go get Hershel? We can't be seen inside like this, he can't," Daryl pleaded.

She ran off without another word. She looked back once, that same smirk on her face, as she sprinted up to the next gate. She came back with Hershel hobbling behind a few minutes later.

"What's goin' on?" Hershel asked with concern.

"Think he's under the effects of this flower," Daryl said, retrieving the flower from his pocket and holding it up.

"What are his symptoms?" the older man asked.

"I want Daryl," Rick said, his body straightening up to finally give Daryl a breather from the groping that he really didn't mind. "It's not a symptom."

"And, uh, ya don't want him?" Hershel asked Daryl, face stern and serious.

Daryl thought hard for a moment. He wanted to say 'Fuck yes!' but he knew it wasn't right. "Nah, he's my brother," Daryl said, not at all convincingly from the look Hershel gave him back.

"Ya sure about that? No time ta lie."

Daryl let out a frustrated groan. "Not like this," he said, shaking his head adamantly.

"Dammit Daryl! I want ya, okay. Have for awhile!" Rick said.

"Rick, it's just the flower. You're just confused is all."

"Don't think he is," Michonne interjected with a smile. "He, uh, may've told me some stuff."

"Hmmm," Hershel hummed, a contemplative look on his face.

"What?" Daryl nearly shriek when Rick's hand burrowed it's way up under the back of his shirt.

"Flower may just've concentrated already existent feelings."

"Wait! Are ya sayin' that I like him, he likes me, and the damn flower knew and cast some sorta spell on us or sumpin? That's ridiculous! It ain't possible," Daryl insisted.

"Open the gate," Rick ordered. Michonne did and let them him. Rick took a reluctant Daryl by the hand and dragged him inside and towards the prison.

"Not a spell, it most likely woke somethin' up that you've been repressing. Ya like him?" Hershel asked, trudging along and trying to keep up.

"Yeah," Daryl truthfully admitted.

"He wants you, you want him. Don't see the problem. Everyone knows how close ya are. People probably already think you're together. Maybe ya both just needed a push."

"I ain't takin' advantage of him in this state!" That was not something Daryl wanted. He wasn't like that.

"Have you been effected by it, Daryl?"

"Yeah, but I think I'm immune now."

"What happened when ya didn't, ahem, didn't...."

"It hurt like hell till I did," Daryl said uncomfortably. Hershel was like a father to him now and their whole conversation was embarrassing. 

"Ya want him in that kind of pain?" Michonne asked.

Daryl thought for a moment before shaking his head. 

"Then ya might not have a choice," Hershel added. "If it's something your not comfortable with, we might have to find someone who is. Who knows when the effects will wear off."

"No. No one else!" Daryl stated firmly. "He was out there lookin' for me. It was my fault he was exposed. I....I don't trust anyone else." 

"Either do I, so let's get him to your cell."

Rick was surprisingly quiet through the whole exchange. He held onto Daryl's belt as the four of them walked towards the prison, Michonne and Hershel flanking them close to keep any prying eyes off them.

"This jus' don't feel right," Daryl mumbled when they walked into the cellblock. That was a flat out lie.

"We could get that new brunette. June, I think her name was. She's been eyein' him," Michonne said.

"No," him and Rick said at the same time.

"I guess I could do it," she continued. All three men turned to look at her. "What? Can't say I haven't thought about it, he's hot. But it'd just be meaningless and we all know that ain't Rick."

"Guess that settles it. We'll, uh, find a way to get everyone out of here to give ya some privacy," Hershel said.

Daryl reluctantly nodded and led Rick up to his cell. It was the most secluded, and he didn't want anyone gawking or bothering them. He probably should've been more nervous. It had been years since he'd been with anyone, but he just needed Rick so bad, and he knew that wasn't the pollen talking, that was his heart. And maybe, tangentially, his cock.

Apparently Rick needed him just as bad because as soon as the curtain fell back into place, the older man slammed his body into Daryl's, lips just missing their mark as they skidded off onto scruffy hair-covered overheated cheeks. But that was okay, they corrected and connected, then tongues were sloppily dancing and exploring each other's mouths.

Rick guided him further into the cell and pushed his leather vest down and off his shoulders. It fell to the floor, and even though it was one of the few clothing items that Daryl cared about, he didn't right then. They both went for buttons next, careful not to rip them off which was a tedious task in and of itself with shaky impatient hands. But the group had better things to do then reattach buttons because they were both dying to get naked.

Rick kissed a line down his neck as his dexterous fingers went to Daryl's belt. He unbuckled the leather and yanked it off of him in one swift motion. The sound of the metal clanking against the wall echoed after Rick threw it over his shoulder. Heavy thuds sounded next as they both kicked off their boots wildly.

"Rick, ya sure about this?" Daryl asked after breaking a scorching kiss that he desperately wanted to crawl ino and live inside of if it had been possible.

Rick grabbed his hand and pressed the palm against his prominent erection, grinding and hissing at the additional friction. "So fucking bad you goddamn sexy son-of-a-bitch!"

Daryl didn't need anymore prompting after that. Rick pushed him down so he was sitting on the bed and went for his own belt. It was like a strip show without the music, but he didn't need music, just Rick. Then he remembered that he was in fact allowed to touch the dancer so he did.

He grabbed Rick's hips and pulled him close, licking a line down the faint patch of hair disappearing into his dirty jeans. That was the highlight of his life right there. Rick's belt finally popped open, the zipper like a symphony in his ears as it fell. Fuck Beethoven! 

Daryl didn't waste any time sucking Rick's cock into his mouth the instant it sprung forth from torn boxers. He was sure that any minute Rick was going to snap out of his trance and punch him in the face. He wasn't going to waste a second of this, of him.

It had been a while since he—fuck—he never sucked a cock before, but he did the best he could. A for effort. He could feel the stretch of his lips as they slipped over the head, Rick's salty-sweet precum coating his tastebuds as the tip of his tongue traced the gooey slit.

He felt Rick's hands on the back of his head. He expected them to pull him forward, to fuck his mouth, but they didn't, they just rested there, just being. God, he fucking loved Rick! He did. Why hadn't he said anything sooner? Why hadn't Rick? The man was a fallen angel in this now-broken world and Daryl was on his knees in worship. 

Metaphorically speaking; technically, he was on his ass. 

"Harder," Rick muttered.

Daryl obliged, sucking him down, inching his lips further along the length of his shaft. It was shallow at first, his strokes, but they steadily deepened until he was taking half the man into the back of this mouth. He gagged and came up for air, embarrassed as hell. He looked up at Rick looking down at him as he bit his lip seductively. 

The older man chuckled, low in his chest and said, "My god, you are so beautiful, Daryl Dixon!" His hand combed through Daryl's long, stringy hair as his smiled up with as much emotion as he could. Him and Rick never needed words to communicate. This was no different because the smile he got back said everything.

This wasn't the flower.

He wasn't embarrassed anymore, but he was determined to do better. His hand flew up to the base of Rick's cock, milking a satisfying moan from him when he began to rub in time with his bobs. They had kept eye contact for awhile until Daryl licked a path down his cock to his balls and sucked one into his mouth.

Rick's head shot back, eyes shut tight, as he bucked his hips away. Daryl smiled wide because he knew he damn near made the man come right there. "Nah, I want inside you," Rick said when he composed himself. And Daryl could deny him for naught.

He pulled Rick pants down past his knees and watch him step out of them. Rick motioned for him to lay back on the bed, so he did. He was about to vibrate right out of his skin as Rick ran his hands up his legs, fingers hooking into the waist of his loose jeans as he wiggled them off of him. 

Daryl shivered with want as a tongue zigzagged its way up the inside of his thigh, right up between his balls, and up the underside of his rock hard shaft. Rick swirled said tongue around the tip of his cock and gave him a few shallow pumps before sucking him all the way down his throat.

And then _that_ right there was the highlight of his life.

"You done that before?" he asked Rick, near shock when the man pulled off him with a loud pop that he'd remember till the day he died.

Rick smirked, "No, but I've been wantin' to. Been wantin' you."

"Well, you can do that to me any time ya want."

"I'll remember that....Got any lube?"

"Shit....no, wasn't exactly plannin' on this ever happenin'."

"Oh well, get some the next time you're out," Rick winked up at him. He was still camped out between his legs, his breath wafting over Daryl's now-glistening saliva-covered dick as he spoke.

"Would ya please just fuck me now!" Daryl pleaded, lifting his hips searching for any sort of contact he could find. But Rick pulled up before he touched him, smiling wickedly as Daryl let out a very frustrated half grunt half sob.

"Ya want me that bad?" he teased.

"Ya gotta know I do by now. Ya ain't stupid, Rick."

"Turn over then, on your hands and knees," he ordered, and Daryl did so without a thought.

The next thing he knew, Rick's tongue was in his ass. _Inside_ his ass! He could feel the deft muscle smooth against the inner walls of his body, moving every which way as Rick pressed further passed his sensitive puckered ring. Rick's hands were kneading and spreading his cheeks apart as he delved in as far as he could. 

And Daryl just wanted to cry out in ecstasy. But he couldn't because nothing would work. He was practically paralyzed with pleasure. He was close to passing out from the sensory overload and sheer euphoria that washed over him. He never wanted it to stop, never wanted it to end.

When Rick finally pulled away, he felt empty. But it was short lived because a slick finger replaced it, thrusting in and out of him as Rick planted kisses all over his lower back. Rick's free hand slithered underneath to stroke him slow and steady. Then, the amazing tongue that was just inside him ran along one of his scars, and if it had been anyone else but Rick, they would've been punched in their fucking face. 

"Another," Daryl demanded. He needed more of him, more of Rick. He needed all of him.

Rick pressed in another slick finger, stretching him and loosening him up, getting him ready for his eagerly waiting cock. Daryl's vision blurred for a split second when Rick hit something deep inside him, and he gasped. "Fuck, do that again....," he begged. "Please, Rick!"

"I found it, huh?" the smug bastard said. But he curled his fingers in just the right way to where he was once again grazing the tips of them over Daryl's prostate. "Can't wait for you ta do this to me," Rick said, adding a third. "To make me beg for ya."

Daryl whimpered at the thought that Rick might actually want to do this again because he couldn't even fathom that. That Rick would want him again, want this, want him thrusting inside _his_ ass, but he would do whatever Rick wanted. He was completely at his mercy. He was Rick's now; all of him. In fact, he couldn't remember a time when he wasn't. 

"I need ya!" Daryl whined. Yes, he was now a whiny bitch, and he was totally okay with that. So fucking okay with that.

"I need you, too!"

"Dammit, Rick! Fuck me now!" he yelled, thrusting back onto his fingers. He couldn't wait any longer, he was about to die from want. His head shot around when Rick pulled out. Once again, he felt empty. He hungrily watched over his shoulder as Rick spit in his hand, lubing up his cock with the only thing they had.

Daryl tensed for just a second when the head of Rick's member rubbed precum on his entrance. This was happening! Rick Grimes was about to fuck him stupid. That wouldn't take long, he could feel dribbles of his own precum dripping onto the mattress below, the tightness in his gut ready to come unraveled with the slightest force. 

And Rick was a goddamn hurricane. 

"Relax baby," Rick said soothingly as he leaned down to kiss him on the back of the neck.

He did what he was told and was handsomely rewarded. Rick slid the slippery head of his cock into him. It burned so good as he crept forward a little at a time until he was seated all the way inside, balls deep, bodies flush. And that was just fantastic, being stretched and filled and fucked. Soon to be fucked. Rick was kissing and licking and nibbling on his shoulders, his back, his shoulder blades, his neck. It was almost like torture. 

Because the damn bastard wouldn't move!

So he did.

Daryl rocked back and Rick got the message. He let out a rough, raspy laugh that sounded like heaven and pulled back just a little before moving forward. The next time, he pulled back further and pushed in harder. It wasn't long until he was surging into him with that hurricane force Daryl had been waiting for, his whole body quaking with every crack of hips against hips, skin against skin, balls against balls. 

One of Rick's hands was parked on his hip for leverage as he pulled Daryl back onto him. The other found its way into Daryl's long, dark, sweaty strands of hair, yanking his head back and bowing his spine. And that was fine because Rick found that deliciously glorious spot inside him and pounded into it repeatedly like their lives depended on it because fuck if it didn't.

He was grunting and moaning with every thrust, Rick's name rolling off his tongue like quicksilver, rich and fluid. And he gave no mind to who might be out there listening. It didn't matter because in that moment, he was Rick's, Rick was his, and he'd be as loud as he damn well pleased.

Then, Rick was slowing, his speed now languid and lazy. "Nah, this is no good," he asserted, and Daryl's heart fell into his stomach. Was the pollen wearing off? "I can't see your gorgeous face. Turn back over." Rick pulled out of him so he could, and he wasn't about to argue.

Rick bent down and kissed him hard and heated. "Look at you!" he smiled, panting after they parted, "Fuckin' beautiful!"

Daryl blushed, not used to anyone wanting him like this, talking sweet to him, seeing him so vulnerable and open in every sense of the word. Rick kissed him again, nice and easy, everything he couldn't say, that they didn't know how to. Words were useless anyway, they wouldn't've been enough. But god, he loved to hear him talk.

Rick lifted Daryl's hips up, and he wrapped his legs around Rick's waist. Then, that cock he'd been craving was pushing in again, filling him to the brim as Rick set a vigorous pace. "God, Daryl, your ass is amazing, so tight," Rick praised. Daryl clenched around him, and Rick's rhythm faltered for just as second, both of their bodies quivering in response. 

Daryl could just make out a bead of sweat rolling down Rick's chest in the dimming light of the setting sun outside. He reached his hand up and wiped it away with his finger, bringing it to his mouth to taste the salty drop. Rick did the same thing to him but with a drop of precum that was rolling down his cock. He whimpered Rick's name at the sight.

That was the single most erotic thing he'd ever seen.

Rick wrapped his fingers back around Daryl's length and began to stroke him fast, the time for slow was long gone. Daryl covered the hand Rick had on his hip with his own, and Rick quickly intertwined their fingers. He never wanted any of this to end, but he felt the pressure building within him as Rick pummeled into him mercilessly.

"Rick...so, mmm...close," he managed to choke out.

"I can't believe you're mine," Rick practically growled. And that was it. Daryl came, exploding his molten seed in between them, his back arching off the hard prison mattress, his head falling back, eyes shut tight as his body was wrecked for anyone else—Ever.—as Rick laid claim to his whole being.

Daryl's muscles seized around the pulsing shaft pistoning within him, and that was all Rick needed. Daryl felt the dam bursting deep inside him, a whimpering cry of his name lost to the world as Rick collapsed on top of him, the barriers of their bodies dissolving as they melted together. 

He could feel Rick's chest heaving against his own. He went dizzy as soft kisses fluttered across the skin of his neck, a new shockwave of elation enveloping him with each one, the titillating tingle of Rick's beard almost unbearable on his oversensitive skin. He sucked in a shallow breath when Rick pulled out of him. 

He honestly thought Rick would clean himself up, get dressed, and leave as the spell of the pollen lifted with their release. Rick reached over for his shirt while Daryl tried his best to come to terms with the fact that this was a one-time thing. But Rick wiped them down, tossed his shirt on the floor, and snuggled back down onto his chest.

"Can I stay?" he asked.

"Mhmm," Daryl mumbled. 

Rick pulled the scratchy blanket up over them and kissed his jaw until Daryl turned his head and kissed him right. They tightened their hold on each other before Daryl quickly fell into the deepest, most peaceful sleep of his life.

*****

Daryl woke up the next morning alone. He let out a heavy sigh full of sadness and slowly got out of bed. He was sore everywhere, but it was a good pain, a reminder of the best night of his life. But he was filled with misery again knowing that that too would soon wear off and disappear into the land of memories. 

He pulled on his clothes and left his cell. He had to go back out there and pull up all those damn flowers so that no one else would be caught under the spell of its insatiable horniness and dream-crushing crash back to reality afterward.

"Daryl?" Hershel called from his cell as he walked by.

He peeked his head in to find Michonne and Rick standing beside the older man. He felt his cheeks heat up immediately as him and Rick made eye contact. He assumed their fearless leader would be mad, but Rick was smiling at him, and he was confused. "Rick, I'm sorry," he apologized. 

Rick walked toward him and leaned in, hand on his bicep, to whisper in his ear, "For what? The best sex of my life?"

"For takin' advantage of you," Daryl whispered back.

"You didn't," he said, pulling back so he could look Daryl in the eye. "If anything, it was the other way around. And I'm sorry."

"For what? The best sex of _my_ life?" he mirrored back.

"No, definitely not for that," Rick snickered. "Never for that."

"What color are the stripes on the petals, you two?" Hershel asked. They both looked down at the flower then back up to him like he had grown another head.

"Blue," they both said in unison.

"What shade of blue?" the elder man asked them.

"Same shade as his eyes," they both answered simultaneously as they looked at each other with confusion. They knew they didn't have the same colored eyes.

"Son, this isn't...what did ya call it, Daryl? Sex pollen? No, that's not it," he said, smiling fondly. 

Daryl just stood there, looking at Hershel with bewilderment.

"This here is called a bonding bonnet, and they're very rare," he explained. "You looked at it at the same time didn't ya? It called to ya both, I imagine. The, ahem, initial attempts at bringing you two together must not have worked so it became more and more persistent until you both showed up to investigate the source of your....odd feelings."

"What the hell does that mean?" Daryl asked. "Bonding bonnet? Never heard of it."

"There was an old legend that my grandma told me once. It was about this flower that only bloomed every one hundred years. She said that if the conditions were right and a pair of special, worthy, matching souls were nearby, it would work to bring them to their rightful place beside one another," Hershel said.

"That's a bunch of bullshit. 'S just a damn psychedelic flower," Daryl insisted.

"I thought so too, but the most convincing part was that the two 'soulmates' would see the color of their lover's eyes on the petals. While you and Rick see each other's shade of blue eyes, Michonne and I just see white, no stripe."

They all looked over at Michonne as she nodded.

"Mags!" Hershel called. A minute later Maggie popped her head in the cell.

"Yeah, daddy?" 

"What color are the stripes on this flower?" he asked her.

She smiled at it wistfully, "Dark brown, same color as Glenn's eyes just about. Why?"

"No reason, could ya send Carl in for a minute?"

"Sure thing," she smiled to them as she walked away.

"Yeah?" Carl said as he entered the cell.

"What color are the stripes on these petals?" Hershel asked the young man.

Carl took the flower from his hand and spun it between his index finger and thumb. The puzzled look he had turned into apprehension quickly. "This some kinda trick? There aren't any stripes," he answered.

It was his turn for Rick and Daryl to look at him like he had three heads. 

"What? It's just a plain white flower," he added with a shrug.

"Thank ya, son," Hershel said, taking back the flower. Carl stalked off, obviously done with whatever joke they were playing that he didn't get.

"So, what? We're just soulmates now?" Rick asked.

"What if we always were?" Daryl asked. Because that made more sense than a damn flower bringing them together. And that he could believe.

"Guess ya just needed ta figure it out, then. The flower gave ya a little push in the right direction," Hershel said.

"Can't say I mind it bein' you," Rick said, turning to Daryl who had a faint blush on his cheeks.

"Nah, me neither," Daryl replied, a heated smirk involuntarily breaking out over his lips.

"We'll just leave ya'll to talk," Hershel said, ushering Michonne out the door with him.

There was a long comfortable silence before Rick spoke again. "Ya wanna move into my cell then?" he asked.

"Look Rick, I like ya and all and I liked what we did, but it was just a stupid flower. I don't want ya askin' somethin' like that just 'cause ya think you're supposed to because of some dumb legend. Or 'cause we had sex once and ya feel responsible or somethin'."

"That's not what this is. It ain't the damn flower, Daryl, I want ya. Been wantin' ya for awhile now. Thought you wanted me, too, but I guess I was scared after Lori and the fact that the whole damn prison could fall down at any minute. I've been a coward, but I'm not anymore," Rick assured him.

"Been wantin' ya, too. Just didn't want it ta effect the group," he admitted. "Didn't know ya wanted me."

"We won't let that happen, and I do," Rick stated matter-of-factly. He grabbed Daryl by the collar and pulled him in for a sweet and sensual kiss. When he pulled away, they both were grinning like fools. "Alright, go get your stuff, roomie," he chuckled.

After Daryl left with a satisfied grin on his face, Rick went to his secret stash of goodies and pulled out four chocolate bars he snagged on his last run. He walked out of the cell block to the deserted kitchen area and handed Carl, Hershel, Michonne, and Maggie one each. 

"What kinda flower was that anyway?" Rick smiled mischievously.

"I don't know, some kinda weed, I think," Hershel replied.

"It was hell gettin' the paint color just right," Maggie said. "Glad it didn't rain the other night."

"Think he bought it?" Michonne asked.

"He's movin' his stuff into my cell," Rick replied a bit smugly.

"Rick Grimes, you are one crafty son-of-a-bitch!"

"Yeah, well ya'll are scary good liars," he said. 

"How'd you know he'd find that particular flower? In that spot? And how did you get him to think the 'flower' effected him?" Carl asked.

"Daryl may be wild, but he's also a creature of habit. I just paid attention and planted some subtle seeds along the way. Pretty sure his imagination did the rest."

"Eww, I don't want to know about that part," Carl cringed.

"I kinda feel bad for manipulating him, though," he frowned.

"Trust me, ya didn't," Michonne assured him.

"Yeah, he woulda come around eventually, but I was just tired of waitin'," Rick said over his shoulder as he walked away.

*****

A few hours later, Daryl walked up to Michonne and tossed her a bag of stale M&M's he had found a couple of weeks before. He flashed her a smirk, gave her a wink, and walked away.


End file.
